


Of Moors & Mirrors

by Maddalia



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Clothing Kink, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddalia/pseuds/Maddalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lads are taking some much needed time off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Moors & Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to moonlightmead for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine.

They'd been apart for a week. Cowley did that sometimes, arbitrarily pairing them off with other agents, or sending them off alone. This time, Doyle had been stuck in London on an obbo, while Bodie had been partnered with Murphy. They’d been acting as Cowley's personal bodyguards during a week of diplomatic talks, the details of which neither man had been permitted to know. Why the head of CI5 had been called in to deal with an international affair, no one knew. As Bodie sardonically remarked, 'Ours is not to reason why.'

They'd been in Geneva, in a grand hotel on the lake. It had been closed off to the public, with roadblocks, men in dark suits, strict secrecy. Bodie and Murphy hadn't got outside the whole time; they'd stood at windows during rare breaks from standing about looking tall, dark and dangerous, and had marvelled at the view that was so close, and yet so far.

'Doyle'd be in his element here, with his brushes,' Murphy said, with some fondness for their absent friend. Bodie didn't bother to hide the wistful expression that he knew was on his face as he nodded. They'd never talked about it, but he was almost certain that Murphy knew about the nature of their relationship. Knew, and didn't mind. Didn't judge them. Good old Murph.

The talks went on and on, and ended without incident. It had to be one of the dullest ops Bodie had ever been on. And he hadn't even had Doyle there to make the time go faster, making him laugh with his so-bad-they're-funny jokes and his giggling at inappropriate things. Murphy was OK; he was a good mate, but he wasn't Doyle. Bodie missed his partner terribly. _Ridiculously,_ he thought to himself. It wasn't like they'd never been parted before. It just hadn’t been for this long before. Not since they’d been together. What made the ache greater was that they'd only been back together six weeks when the orders came through.

The storm had broken about a year ago. They’d been non-exclusive lovers for six months, and neither had wanted it any other way. But they’d both been jealous of each other’s exploits with women. Bodie had even considered giving up other lovers, and asking Doyle to do the same, but he’d kept silent, fearing it would make things worse. It had, he realised in retrospect, been a mistake. He recalled, with considerable shame, the terrible row they’d had during a tough assignment. He could no longer remember exactly what, or _who_ had started it, but the distraction had nearly compromised them. After the op, they’d met at Doyle’s flat, and had what was possibly the most painful conversation of Bodie’s life. They'd give each other up, for the sake of the job and their partnership.

It had worked. Within weeks they were mates again, almost as if the previous year had never happened. The sense of emptiness that had afflicted Bodie between meeting Doyle and becoming involved with him was back with a vengeance, but unlike raw emotion it was manageable. He'd put the past behind him, put his best foot forward, and tried to ignore how miserable he was deep down. Casual sex with pretty girls had helped to dull the pain, and he had almost -- _almost_ \-- managed to forget that he’d once seriously considered giving up women, for a man for whom he’d fallen harder than he’d believed was possible.

But then, six weeks before those stupid orders, Doyle had split up with his girlfriend, Deborah, after CI5 once again screwed up his private life. Poor bastard. He and Deb hadn't been all that serious, but he'd liked her. She'd just stopped trusting him, so she said. Bodie had been there for Doyle, of course, like a mate. He'd taken his dumped partner out for a drink and listened while he alternated between bitching about women, and berating himself. Bodie hadn't talked much. He'd just watched Doyle getting drunker and drunker, and dutifully driven him home afterwards. He'd seen him inside, laid him on the couch, and been about to leave, when Doyle grabbed the lapels of his jacket.

'Had enough of birds, mate,' he slurred. 'Been a moron. 'S you I want. You still want me I'm yours. Just say, Bodie, and I'm yours.'

The affirmation had brought a lump to Bodie’s throat. Doyle was off his face, but even so, it felt cruel. Bodie had long since given up hope. And now, because of a few drinks, Doyle was dragging it all up again.

'What are you saying?’ he’d asked, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice despite the fact that Doyle was probably too pissed to notice. It was impossible to tell if he had.

‘What do you _think_ I’m saying?’ Doyle had muttered irritably. ‘I said I’m yours. I’m not offering you a night as my rebound fling. Do you really think I’m that much of a bastard?’

He was losing his grip on Bodie’s jacket, and Bodie took the opportunity to straighten up, out of reach.

‘You saying you still love me, Ray?’

Ray had nodded, slowly, solemnly -- sadly, even.

'Tell me again when you're sober,' Bodie had said in a harsh, passionate voice, before he’d turned on his heel and got out of there, not trusting himself to be in Doyle’s presence a moment longer. He'd gone home and fallen into a depressed, fitful sleep, until the buzzer of his front door had woken him the next morning. Still dazed with sleep, Bodie had staggered out to the living room, picked up the intercom phone, and said thickly, 'Hello.'

'I love you,' came the soft, cautious voice down the line. 'I'm sober as a judge, and I love you.'

Bodie’s hand had flown to his face, clamping over his mouth to stifle a sob of sheer joy, scrubbing away tears before they had a chance to fall. Then, back in control, he had buzzed Doyle in. Neither of them had left his flat for two days. They'd lived as well as worked together since, alternating between their two flats, and it had all been magic: the sex, the partnership, the togetherness, all of it. They hadn’t promised to be faithful -- hadn’t even talked about it -- but they had been. It had been six, no, seven weeks now. Bodie had been as ridiculously happy with Doyle as he was ridiculously lonely in Geneva. The end of the talks couldn't come fast enough.

When Bodie had finished packing, he picked up the phone in his room and asked the operator to place an international call. There was no answer at his flat, so he tried Doyle's. No answer there, either. He supposed Doyle must still have been out on his obbo, watching a possible terrorist target, an assignment only slightly less dull than Bodie’s own. It was against regulations, but what harm would a quick hello do? Bodie called HQ and asked to be patched through to 4.5.

There was a long, ragged breath, then a dead-sounding voice, barely recognisable as Doyle’s, said, ‘4.5.’

‘Ray?’ Bodie was startled.

‘Bodie, what …?’

He sounded dazed, bewildered -- pained. Bodie’s brow creased with worry and his stomach knotted up so hard it hurt. His mouth went dry and he almost couldn’t get the words out.

‘Ray, you OK?’

‘I’m not hurt,’ Doyle said, still in that disturbingly flat voice. ‘I’m fine. It’s the others, Bodie.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Called for backup,’ said Doyle. ‘Too late. Psychotic bastards … women and kids … stoppage on the fucking gun … _women and kids,_ Bodie!’

‘Doyle, mate, you’re not making any sense.’

‘Blood … I’m covered in blood …’

‘But none of it’s yours?’ Bodie couldn’t disguise his panic.

‘Not mine,’ Doyle murmured.

Bodie sighed with relief.

‘Look, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, OK?’

‘Good. I have to go.’

‘Ray ...’

But he’d stopped transmitting.

‘What the fuck …’ Bodie muttered aloud to the empty room.

He finished packing in a hurry. Even though he wouldn’t be able to get home any earlier, it somehow felt better to rush. It was half an hour before they were all meant to rendezvous in the hotel lobby. Bodie went to the bar and ordered a large scotch. It made him feel superficially calmer.

‘Bodie!’

Murphy. Ten minutes early. He’d have some company, whether he wanted it or not. Bodie turned round and gave his temporary partner a weak smile.

 _‘There_ you are. I thought you’d still be upstairs. Did you know the old man’s rushed back ahead of us? Got in a helicopter quarter of an hour ago.’

‘What for?’ Bodie asked, feigning innocence. But he felt sure it was Doyle's op. It was too much of a coincidence.

‘A giant cock-up, that’s what,’ said Murphy, shaking his head incredulously. ‘That department store Doyle was watching. How much d’you know about it?’

‘Nothing. Takes his duties seriously, our Raymond. Wouldn’t tell me a thing.’

‘Yeah, well, apparently Cowley got a tip–off from Special Branch. It was their op for the most part, but they wanted a CI5 man on the scene to photograph people going in and out, and communicate with our lot if any extra backup was needed.’

‘And presumably, so CI5 gets the blame if anything goes wrong, because we’re the ones with a man on the scene,’ Bodie growled.

‘Yeah, but bear with me, I’m not finished yet,’ said Murphy. ‘The department store’s owned by an Israeli family. Half the Jewish community in London shop there. Intelligence said it could be a target for one of the PLO offshoots, PLF, I think -- maybe Fatah. Anyway, Doyle was watching the deliveries entrance, looking for Arabs. When he saw three white men going in, he didn’t think to raise the alarm until he heard the shots and the screaming.’

‘Screaming,’ repeated Bodie. His stomach had knotted up again.

‘Three men with guns and butchers’ knives. British Movement, November 9th Society, something of that kind. Anti-Jewish, anyway.’

‘Fuck,’ Bodie whispered.

‘Yeah,’ said Murphy.

There was a short pause; both men downed their drinks.

‘Well go on, what happened next?’ demanded Bodie.

‘It’s not pretty,’ said Murphy. ‘They killed two members of staff, then got up to the toy department and took hostages. Two women, three kids. But they didn’t wait for negotiations, they just killed the hostages, sliced ‘em up. Left the youngest kid till last. They waited for a witness. Thought they were making some sick point.’

‘The witness,’ Bodie asked slowly, knowing the answer but somehow needing it confirmed. ‘That was Doyle, wasn’t it?’

Murphy nodded grimly. ‘Doyle called for backup, then ran in alone to try and stop the bastards. He’s not hurt, but he couldn’t save the kid. Apparently he got a stoppage, couldn’t fire till it was too late. Cowley said the ambulancemen had to drag him away from the bodies when it was over.’

Bodie looked away. A torrent of different emotions hit him, but he couldn’t tell them apart.

‘How could this happen?’ he asked finally. ‘Why was Doyle on his own if it was that dangerous? Why did Special Branch think they were looking for Arabs?’

‘Because the intelligence was bent,’ Murphy replied bitterly. ‘The two men it came from belonged to the Nazi mob. They’ve been arrested now. Special Branch knew there was a leak in the department, that’s probably why they wanted CI5 involved, someone to share the blame -- but the precise nature of it, they discovered half an hour too late. A cock-up, like I said.’

‘And Ray right in the middle of it all, covered in the blood of women and children,’ said Bodie, struggling to keep from raising his voice. ‘Christ, he won’t get over that in a hurry.’

‘This is bigger than Doyle, Bodie,’ Murphy warned.

‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ Bodie replied in a quiet, fierce voice.

‘Well, to be honest I think Cowley feels the same. I heard him on the phone: “Last time you use one of my men to clean your doorstep,” or words to that effect. He’s not happy.’

‘Good,’ Bodie said vehemently.

‘Come on, mate,’ Murphy said, clapping him on the shoulder with what was clearly intended to be comfort and reassurance. ‘We have to go. Sooner we get home the better. Specially you, Bodie. Seems like Doyle’ll need you to drown his sorrows with, after all this.’

* * * * *

Bodie was called to HQ as soon as he and Murphy got back to London. Anson was at the airport to pick them up. The meeting with Cowley was brief; he told Bodie what had happened, assured him that no one thought 4.5 was to blame, and fielded Bodie’s angry outburst with more than usual patience and understanding. He then gave them both a week’s leave, effective the moment Doyle’s report was on his desk.

‘You don’t have to spend it together, of course,’ the old man said. ‘But you’re the one Doyle usually turns to in a crisis. He’s already refused counselling, but that doesn’t surprise me; he and Dr Ross have never seen eye-to-eye. You’re probably the best alternative. And you were both due leave, anyway.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Bodie had said. He turned to go at Cowley’s answering nod, thinking he was dismissed.

‘Bodie,’ Cowley called him back.

Bodie looked at him. ‘Sir?’

‘There may be an investigation. I intend to make sure Special Branch take the brunt of it. At least CI5‘s involvement was minimal. Doyle’s report and my evidence should be sufficient. I back my men to the hilt, you know that. And I don’t intend to make an exception for your partner.’

‘Yes sir,’ Bodie said. He even managed to smile a little at his boss before he left his office.

Bodie went straight to Doyle’s flat. It was nine o’clock in the evening when he arrived. Doyle answered the door. When he saw Bodie he closed his eyes and sighed, then gave him a faint smile.

‘Come in,’ he said. ‘D’you want a drink? There’s still some of that single malt.’

‘Ta, thanks,’ said Bodie. He shut the door behind him and followed Doyle into the kitchen. On the table was a typewriter, next to which was a thin pile of paper.

‘Done your report already?’ Bodie asked in surprise.

‘There wasn’t much to say,’ Doyle replied shortly as he poured the drinks. ‘And I want to stop thinking about this as soon as possible.’

Bodie accepted the glass he was offered, and they stood silently either side of the kitchen counter, drinking. After a minute or so, Doyle put down his glass and looked Bodie in the eye.

‘Look, I’m sorry about all that before,’ he said. ‘I only lost it for a second. I just wasn’t expecting to hear your voice in the middle of …’

He trailed off, throwing up his hands in despair of finding the words.

‘You do know it wasn’t your fault?’ Bodie asked gently.

‘Yes, I know,’ Doyle said shakily, as he poured himself another drink. ’But it doesn’t make what I saw any easier. Four of them were dead when I got in the room, but they saved the last one, killed her right in front of me. She must’ve been about four, Bodie … four years old. And I couldn’t do anything, my bloody gun wouldn’t fire. I tried to save them, when it was over … they were cut to pieces … not a pulse among them … Jesus, Bodie, I’ve never seen that much blood! I’ve showered three times since I got home and I can still smell it, taste it …’

He downed his scotch and slammed the glass down on the counter. There were tears in his eyes and his hands were shaking, but he pulled himself together. He stood quite still for a moment, as if he were reflecting on something. Then, without warning or apparent effort, he vaulted the counter. Straightening up, he stared at Bodie with such intensity that Bodie wanted to look away, but he made himself hold his partner’s gaze. For a few seconds, Doyle’s whole body tensed, so that the veins stood out in his neck and his pulse throbbed visibly in his left temple. But then he relaxed; the expression on his face grew sober, and the look in his eyes softened.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Doyle said. ‘If it hadn’t been for you coming home I’d wish I were dead.’

He stepped forward and grabbed Bodie, yanking him forward into a fierce, hard, almost angry kiss. Bodie wrapped his arms around him, holding the wiry, quivering body tightly, but not more tightly than Doyle was clinging to his shoulders. Bodie suspected he’d have bruises the next day, but he didn’t care. Whenever Doyle forgot himself and brought all his strength to bear on him, Bodie felt incredibly turned on, for all that he felt deeply sorry for his partner at that moment. Doyle tasted of scotch and smelled of soap, shampoo, conditioner. There was no hint of blood, whatever he imagined. Bodie wanted more than anything to join his own scent and taste to his lover’s, to take away all the hurt and trauma and replace it with something Doyle loved and trusted. They were, he supposed, romantic feelings, but they didn’t affect the thrill of the roughness he was getting now. By the time Doyle broke the kiss, they were both visibly ready for more.

Breathlessly, Doyle said: ‘Today’s been hell. I need to take it out on someone.’

‘I’m all yours,’ said Bodie. ‘Hit me or fuck me, I don’t care.’

Doyle kissed him again, more briefly this time, and a shade more tenderly.

‘Stay there,’ he said.

He disappeared into the bedroom, returning seconds later with a tube in his hand.

‘Turn round,’ he ordered. ‘Put your hands on the counter.’

‘You gonna frisk me?’ Bodie joked, as he obeyed Doyle’s command.

‘Gonna do more than that, mate.’

Bodie couldn’t help moaning when his partner roughly spread his legs, then undid the buttons and zip of his trousers. Doyle pulled them down to his knees, then began to touch him through his underwear, rubbing and caressing.

‘God, that’s good,’ Bodie groaned.

‘Mmm,’ said Doyle. ‘Feels good to touch you, too. Let’s get these off you.’

Bodie thought he meant his underwear, but then Doyle was tugging at his jacket. Bodie shrugged it off, then let Doyle tackle his shirt. He was usually fussy about his clothes, but he felt a surge of arousal when his partner’s firm, strong fingers ripped the shirt open, sending three or four buttons flying across the room. He let Doyle pull his shirt off his back, then shivered as warm, smooth hands slid all over his torso, stroking his back, massaging his shoulders, then moving around to touch his chest, rubbing and squeezing his nipples. Lips that were chapped from being bitten in nervousness kissed Bodie's upper back, his shoulders, his neck. Judging by Doyle's earlier mood, Bodie was surprised at the gentleness, but he wasn’t complaining. Anything Doyle did to him felt good.

Still kissing him, Doyle moved his hands back down to Bodie’s crotch, this time only touching him briefly before pulling his underpants down to join his trousers. He yanked both down to Bodie’s ankles. Then Bodie felt a hand encircle his bared erection, while another rubbed and kneaded his buttocks. He looked down so he could see Doyle stroking him, then flung his head back and moaned. He hoped he could hold off orgasm and let this go on all night. He knew Doyle was going to fuck him, and part of him could hardly wait, but he didn’t want this to stop. When Doyle’s hands left him he had to bite back a cry of disappointment, but he heard the familiar sound of a tube being opened and something being squeezed onto a hand, or fingers -- or both. His pulse quickened. Knowing what was going to happen didn’t make a difference: when Doyle’s finger slid between the cheeks of his arse, he still gasped out loud, feeling electric sensations all down his spine.

‘Say you’re mine again,’ Doyle whispered, kissing the back of his neck.

‘I’m yours,’ Bodie replied in all sincerity, then he moaned his partner’s name as the slippery finger entered him.

‘Yeah, you’re mine,’ said Doyle, and a second finger joined the first. ‘All mine, Bodie.’

‘Always have been,’ Bodie gasped. He heard the zip of Doyle’s jeans, the whisper of fabric being pushed down and away, then the soft movement of Doyle’s other hand as he touched himself, readying himself …

‘I know,’ said Doyle. ‘But you’ve been away, haven’t you? I have to reclaim you now you’re home, Bodie.’

Bodie’s breath shook as he exhaled. ‘And how are you going to do that, Ray?’

‘I’m going to shove my cock into your arse,’ Doyle said. He briefly cupped Bodie’s balls in a lube-slicked hand, squeezing gently and eliciting a low cry from their owner. ‘You may think you remember how good I can make you feel, but memory’s nothing.’

Bodie’s knees went weak and he sagged momentarily against the counter. Doyle’s fingers pulled out of him.

‘Nothing can make me feel like you can,’ Bodie managed to reply, his mouth quirking as he straightened up again.

‘Brace yourself,’ Doyle said roughly, all tenderness gone now.

Two slippery hands grasped Bodie’s hips, a throbbing hardness pushed between his buttocks, and in one thrust, Doyle had impaled him completely. Bodie cried out, half in pain and half in intense pleasure.

‘Can’t be too loud. Remember how thin these walls are,’ Doyle warned.

‘You just try and shut me up,’ Bodie said between his teeth, groaning as Doyle started to thrust, slowly, but hard.

‘Bodie!’ Doyle whispered, between gasping breaths. Bodie closed his eyes and rode out the sensations of the hardness pushing into him, the bony hips slamming into his buttocks, the sound of Doyle’s balls slapping against his skin, the feel of Doyle’s breath coming hard and hot on his neck, curly hair tickling Bodie’s shoulder blades. Then Doyle’s hand snaked around to touch Bodie’s cock, his thumb rubbing over the head just as his own cock stroked Bodie’s prostate. Bodie cried out; Doyle gave a short, triumphant laugh, and did it again. Bodie’s next cry was louder and higher.

‘Shut up, Bodie,’ Doyle warned, and did it again.

‘Like I said,’ Bodie half-sobbed. ‘You can’t expect me to be quiet -- _fucking hell,_ Ray!’

‘You didn’t say that,’ Doyle replied, his voice remarkably calm considering how he must have been feeling. ‘You said I should just try and shut you up.’

‘So try, whatever you like, just keep going will you? Go faster.’

Doyle clamped a firm hand over Bodie’s mouth. Bodie felt a shock of scandalised excitement.

‘Hold your breath, sunshine,’ Doyle said huskily into his right ear. Then he recommenced his assault, but at three times the speed this time. He came very soon after that, whimpering into Bodie’s neck, still thrusting hard inside him instead of going still like he often did. Bodie came with him, stimulated by the feel of his partner’s orgasm, spurting into the still-teasing hand, letting out the breath he’d been holding at the same time. The sense of release was incredible, shatteringly intense. Light-headed, he leaned heavily on his hands, which were shaking so much they’d barely hold him up any more. He turned around and slid down the counter to the floor, pulling Doyle with him, wanting him in his arms.

It was the right thing to do. One release had stimulated another; Doyle was finally able to let the tears out. Bodie pulled him close and hugged him, one hand grasping Doyle’s waist and the other holding his head against his shoulder. Doyle held on tightly to him and murmured things between his sobs and shaking breaths that Bodie couldn’t understand. But Doyle couldn’t have failed to catch what Bodie said to him, over and over.

* * * * *

They needed a holiday. They both knew it. Not just a week's leave, pottering about flats and pubs. An actual trip away, somewhere the world couldn't reach them. After the incident in the kitchen, they’d talked for quite a while, not least about this. Bodie's imagination stretched to all sorts of destinations, but the man he wanted to go away with hadn’t been able to think beyond staying in bed for a week. On the plus side, Doyle meant both of them staying in bed, together, but still ... Bodie wanted something more special than that.

The second time they had sex that night, Bodie took Doyle to the bedroom and treated him tenderly at first, making love to him face to face. It started off slow, and Bodie had intended to keep it that way. But there was no controlling either of them; romance was overtaken by lust and a need that amazed Bodie, since they’d already had a very thorough reunion. By the end it was fast, furious, with Doyle encouraging him to get rougher, until he clutched Bodie to him and his teeth drew blood from his shoulder as he came. Bodie was a second or two behind him, screaming into the pillow beside Doyle's head.

When it was over, and Bodie was breathing normally again, he sat up, leaning sideways on one hand, looking at Doyle as he dozed. But Doyle seemed to realise he was being watched, because after a few minutes he opened his eyes. Smiling, he sat up, opposite Bodie, studying him just as carefully.

'Alright?' he asked blearily.

Bodie nodded. 'Yeah.'

Doyle touched Bodie’s shoulder, running his thumb over the teeth marks he’d made.

‘Did I hurt you?’

‘A bit, but I didn’t mind.’ With a slightly sheepish smile, Bodie added: ‘Actually, it was sort of a rush.’

‘Sorry mate, but I won’t be repeating it,’ said Doyle. ‘We get enough pain in the job. Sight of blood makes me sick.’

‘You’ve got to get over that.’

‘I know.’

Doyle looked down for a moment, appearing to take great interest in the pattern of his bedspread. When he looked back up at Bodie, there was a sweet, rueful smile playing across his features. He kissed Bodie’s shoulder, then ran the back of his hand down the side of his face. Bodie shivered at the light contact; it made him feel relaxed, sleepy, secure, and, above all, loved.

'Did I mention how good that was?' Doyle asked.

'Didn't need to. I can read you like a book.'

'That makes two of us. Something's on your mind. Something other than how amazing I am.'

Bodie grinned.

'Well, it's mostly that,' he said. 'But as a matter of fact, Ray, there is something.'

'What?'

'We need to get away.’

'Ah. This again. I told you, Bodie, I just want to stay home and ...'

'Oh, c'mon, Ray,' Bodie urged. 'Just us, no birds or anything. Like I said -- bit of huntin’, shootin' and fishin'.'

'And like _I_ said, killing, killing and killing. That's not a holiday at all, it's just more of the same.'

Bodie sighed irritably. 'Fine. Admiring the nice countryside, living in cosmic harmony with all creatures great and small …’

'Berk.' Doyle punched him in the arm. But Bodie didn't read as much hostility to the idea as before, so he kept at it.

'Sleeping in,’ he said dreamily, with a look in his eyes calculated to melt icebergs. ‘Phone off the hook, no R/Ts ...'

‘Ah! _Now_ you're getting my attention,’ Doyle said with a grin. ‘Go on.’

'Riding ...'

'Horses or you?'

'Both if necessary, I presume!' Bodie retorted in a high-pitched voice, doing his best Lady Bracknell. He was rewarded with a laugh that made him feel warm from his head to his toes.

'OK, agreed,' Doyle said. 'Let's go somewhere remote, cut ourselves off from the world. Forget about all the crap for a while, yeah?'

'Exactly,' said Bodie. 'That's what I was trying to say.'

Doyle nodded.

'I mean,' he said, gazing meaningfully at Bodie through his eyelashes, 'I want to be free to scream while you're fucking me through the carpet.'

Bodie’s stomach flipped. If he hadn’t already been sated, not to mention exhausted, he could easily have got hard again at those words alone. Doyle looked so wanton at that moment that he could have seduced the Pope, had he been that way inclined. But it wasn’t just lust Bodie felt. Needing contact suddenly, he closed his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh, burying his face in the side of Doyle's neck. A second or two later, strong, supple fingers entwined themselves in his hair, massaging his scalp. Doyle's other hand closed over Bodie's shoulder as his arm wrapped around him. Bodie relaxed, feeling the tension in his body ebbing away at his partner's touch.

'And lots of this,' Doyle murmured, his lips brushing the top of Bodie's head.

Bodie put his arms around Doyle and eased them both back down onto the pillows. Feeling like for once in his life, there were only things to be looked forward to, he fell asleep in seconds.

* * * * *

‘It’s all fixed!’ Doyle shouted, kicking his front door shut behind him. Smelling food, he sauntered through to the kitchen, laundry bag in one hand and a bag of groceries tucked under the other. ‘Bodie! I’ve been down the travel shop. Got us five nights in Devon.’

‘Nowhere too quaint, I hope?‘ asked Bodie. He was standing with his back to Doyle, cooking something unspeakable for breakfast. ‘You know I don’t do cottages.’ He turned around to grin at his own joke. Doyle tried not to grin back, and failed miserably.

‘Quaint it ain’t,’ he replied. ‘We, my son, are going to Dartmoor.’

‘Dartmoor, eh?’ said Bodie. ‘Sounds remote enough! Oh, wait, you haven’t booked us into the prison, have you? One man’s attentions not enough for you, sunshine?’

‘Shut your face. Don’t put me off me breakfast. Speaking of which, we’ll only be going if you live that long. You realise you can only get your stomach pumped, not your arteries?’

‘Fuck off, Doyle, or I’ll force-feed you.’

Doyle busied himself making tea, and serving himself fruit and yoghurt.

‘If you go outside, you’ll sway in the breeze,’ remarked Bodie, when they were sitting opposite each other at the table.

‘One more starch reduced roll …’ Doyle went on with a laugh. A joint recitation of the rest of the Morecambe and Wise health food sketch took up the next five minutes.

‘So tell me about this place, then,’ Bodie said finally.

‘First of all, cheap, since it’s November. Five nights, ex-farmhouse, quite a small place. Two bedrooms of course, said I was going with a mate.’

They shared a knowing smile before Doyle continued.

‘It’s still got its old stables, and you can hire horses and get supplies and all that from the town about ten miles away.’

‘Sounds great,’ said Bodie. ‘Any good fishing spots?’

‘Not if you want me with you on this trip. I told you, Bodie, no killing. I’ve had enough of it.’

Bodie wisely didn’t press the point any further.

‘Now, I got us an OS map of the area, so that’ll show us pub locations, good tracks for riding …’

‘No, really? You must tell me where you get this vast knowledge of orienteering.’

‘I’m just thinking out loud,’ said Doyle, laughing. He’d been waiting for that reaction. ‘We leave tomorrow morning. You’d better get home and pack. Meantime, I think I’ll go out and find some boots.’

‘You’ve got boots!’

‘Nup.’ Doyle shook his head. ‘I threw ‘em away after the op. Clothes too. I don’t think I’d ever feel right in them again.’

‘Oh,’ said Bodie. There was an awkward silence.

‘Anyway,’ Doyle went on, forcing his tone light again. 'I hate riding in trainers, and my wellies perished ages ago. So I thought I might get myself some proper riding boots.’

‘Oh?’ Bodie grinned at him. ‘Playing the country gent, are we?’

‘I dunno. I just fancied them.’

‘They’re not the only thing that’ll be fancied,’ said Bodie, arching an eyebrow. ‘Not if the sight of you in those biker boots was anything to go by -- or the wellies at Knebworth.’

Doyle looked appreciatively at his partner, and felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine. Bodie’s eyes were wide and inviting, and there was anticipation in them.

‘Boots over trousers,’ he said. ‘You’ve never said you liked that.’

‘Wouldn’t exactly be practical in everyday life, would it?’ Bodie said airily. ‘Anyway, I thought you mightn’t like the idea, since birds are always wearing ‘em.’

’Is that why you like them?’ Doyle frowned.

‘Not at all,’ said Bodie, shaking his head decisively. ‘They make me think of old-fashioned portraits, swashbuckling, blokes in period dramas. I had a girlfriend a few years back who loved all that stuff. She made me watch these dead boring shows on TV, even made me go to art galleries with her. The joke was that she asked me if I liked anything about them, and I couldn’t tell her!’

Doyle laughed. With an exaggerated sigh, he said, ‘Aww, poor Bodie. Too much of a gentleman to tell his lady love he’s more interested in boot-clad specimens of manhood than her.’

‘Well, not strictly true, she was a top bird,’ Bodie said, with an air of nostalgia. Then he smiled. ‘But if you were to wear them, now, that’d be different. They really set off the legs, you know. And with those dark blue jeans of yours …’

Doyle leaned over the table and gave Bodie a deep, sensuous kiss, ignoring the taste of the fry-up on his lips.

‘I’ll see you later, mate,’ he said. Then he took up his car keys and left the flat, singing in a high–pitched Cockney accent.

‘Oh, it’s a jolly ‘oliday with Bodie …’

He shut the front door on Bodie’s answering laughter, and felt a great swell of happiness in his chest as he walked to his car.

* * * * *

It was raining when Bodie and Doyle reached Devon, but their spirits were nothing dampened. Between half-emptying a bottle of schnapps, laughing and giggling like kids, and singing raucously along with the radio -- not to mention anticipating five days away from real life -- the mood in the gold Capri was jubilant. They weren’t acting like a couple, they were just being mates, enjoying each other’s company. Best friends and lovers, partners in the romantic, but not in the work sense today. As Doyle said happily to Bodie when they set off, ‘Next five days, darlin’, CI5 doesn’t exist.’

‘Call me that again and I’ll belt you,’ Bodie had replied, but he took the point. There was a slight niggling worry about how Doyle would react when they did have to face CI5 again, but he pushed it away. At least he’d put a timeframe on it; that was a good sign.

They drove through Tavistock, where they purchased all the supplies they needed, including a ten-year-old bottle of red wine and some locally produced cider. They hired a horse box, which Doyle drove, and Bodie followed him. They picked up the horses, plus hay, at a stables on the edge of Dartmoor. Then they drove until the road became barely a road at all, just dirt and gravel, and after a bumpy ride that exposed all the faults of the Capri’s suspension, they arrived at their destination. It was half past three in the afternoon, so there was time to give the horses a little exercise, but to Bodie’s disappointment, Doyle seemed happy to ride in trainers that day. Since neither of them had been on a horse in a while, they decided not to prolong the saddle soreness, not to mention the risk of riding in the dark. So they stabled their horses in the twilight, and drove five miles to the nearest town. They found a pub with a restaurant where they ate dinner, then they stayed in the bar until closing time, chatting with the locals, and making highly inappropriate remarks to the buxom barmaid who threatened good-naturedly to sling them out. A good time was had by all.

‘Looking forward to stoking up that fire, eh?’ Bodie remarked as they sped back to the cottage. After the toasty warm pub, it felt very cold outside, and the heating in the Capri was nothing to a good natural blaze.

‘Mmm,’ said Doyle, glancing briefly sideways with a smile. ‘Why don’t we sleep in front of it tonight? That sheepskin rug in the second bedroom looked comfy.’

Bodie thought of his partner lying naked on a sheepskin rug with firelight dancing off his skin. Forgetting to answer, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, smiling to himself.

‘Bodie,’ Doyle said softly, after a minute.

‘Mmm?’

‘I’m trying to drive, could you try and look a _little_ less breathtaking?’

‘I’m thinking about you,’ Bodie said with a laugh.

‘Good, because if you looked like that and you were thinking of someone else, I’d kill you.’

Doyle grinned as his eyes returned to the road-that-wasn’t. Bodie watched him. He ached to touch, to reach out and stroke the denim-clad thigh nearest him, but the road was so bad that Doyle needed all his wits.

‘Ray,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Did you get those boots you were talking about?’

Doyle smirked. ’Maybe.’

Bodie grinned, as he allowed a nice little image to play across his mind.

‘Could you put them on when we get back?’

‘Maybe.’

Bodie puffed out his cheeks. Trust Doyle to act the tease. He waited until they’d reached the cottage, and Doyle had turned off the engine, to ask his next question.

‘Ray. When you’ve got your boots on, will you fuck me rigid?’

Doyle threw back his head and sighed, smiling broadly, arching his back and neck, thrusting out his chest. He was only just visible in the meagre light that the car headlights and the cottage’s dim outside light provided. But it was enough. Bodie accepted the silent invitation. Mindful of the sticking-out bits of car that lay between them, he leaned over to kiss Doyle’s throat. Doyle moaned, grabbed Bodie’s hand and put it between his legs to feel the bulge there.

‘See what you do to me just talking like that? Bloody hell, Bodie. You know how I feel about you but even if I didn’t, you’re still the best I’ve ever had.’

‘You’ll know it tonight,’ Bodie whispered between kisses. He rubbed Doyle’s cock hard through the layers of fabric, drawing a little cry from him. Doyle squirmed in his seat; his hands clutched at the edges, anchoring him against the sensations that promised to send him skyward.

‘I’ll give you whatever you want,’ Bodie promised. ‘What do you want, Ray? I’ll suck you off right here. You like that idea? It’s getting chilly in here. You’d be cold everywhere except for the heat of my mouth and my tongue as I suck you. Does that turn you on?’

‘God yeah, that turns me on,’ Doyle whispered. He lifted his hips off the seat, pressing his crotch harder into Bodie’s palm.

‘Or we could go inside,’ Bodie went on. ‘Light the fire, investigate that sheepskin you were talking about -- I _might_ have brought some massage oil …’

‘All. All of it. I want …’

Doyle was obviously losing the ability to form coherent sentences. Bodie smiled in the darkness, loving the effect he was having. He never tired of blowing his lover’s mind. He wanted to draw the pleasure out, leave Doyle gasping with need. His hands left Doyle’s lap as he ran them over his shoulders and chest, pinching his nipples through his shirt until they hardened, covering his neck and jaw with soft, teasing kisses. Doyle bit his lower lip and moaned; his eyes rolled back in his head, and Bodie, watching him, began to ache with lust. He took one hand from Doyle’s chest and reached down between his own legs, rubbing his cock through his clothes to try and ease his need until he’d attended to his partner. But it just made it worse.

‘Damn you for being so fucking sexy,’ he said in a rough whisper, without stopping what he was doing. ‘I’m gonna come just watching you … listening to you …’

Doyle responded by moaning more loudly as Bodie continued to rub and squeeze his nipples. Bodie gave a soft, involuntary cry in answer.

‘Get it out then,’ said Doyle, smirking at him. ‘I want to watch you come before you suck me.’

Bodie needed no further encouragement. He unzipped himself and drew out his leaking cock, gasping as he closed his fist over it. With his left hand he opened Doyle’s shirt and exposed the hard nipples to the chilling air. Pinching the left between thumb and forefinger, he let his tongue dance over the other. His right hand began to move.

‘Fuck, that’s terrific,’ Doyle whispered. Then he let out a long, high moan, as Bodie sucked his nipple into his mouth.

‘Bodie …’

Bodie broke contact with a gasp at the sound of his name. Doyle, well aware of that particular weakness, kept at it.

‘Bo-die,’ he crooned, then his voice roughened. ‘Bodie, yes … come on … Bodie! _Yes!’_

Bodie grunted and moaned, and his cock spurted into his pumping right hand. Doyle gasped at the sight and sound of him.

‘Fuck yeah,’ he murmured. ‘Beautiful.’

Bodie collapsed on his neck, and Doyle held him for a few seconds, stroking his hair. But Bodie wasn’t going to be selfish. He’d already denied Doyle for longer than he’d planned. He lifted his head and kissed his partner roughly on the lips; Doyle met him, hard and insistent. Then he cried out, breaking the kiss as Bodie returned his hands to his lap, this time unbuckling Doyle’s belt, and undoing buttons and zip. He made sure his hands teased Doyle’s cock as they did their work.

‘Oh God, mate, yes …’ Doyle moaned. He lifted up again so Bodie could pull his jeans and underwear down, finally freeing his straining erection. Bodie touched the bare, tense flesh, running his fingertips over the familiar veins and ridges, coaxing moans and whimpers from Doyle’s full, perfect lips. Bodie kissed him once, then bent his head.

With his mouth poised over the head of his partner’s cock, Bodie looked up, meeting the wide, lust-fired eyes that gazed at him with an intensity that made him shiver, and an adoration that filled him with the same in return.

‘I love you,’ he said. Then he put his mouth to a different use.

* * * * *

Doyle woke up the next day to find himself and Bodie sprawled across the living room floor, lying on rugs, pillows and sofa cushions, wrapped in quilts and blankets. The grate was long since cold, but Doyle felt wonderfully warm and comfortable. Only Bodie’s head was visible, buried under the covers some three feet away, and he was still deeply asleep. Doyle checked his watch. It was just gone 9am; late autumn sunlight filtered in through the gaps between curtains and windows. He thought about whether to move or not. He was hungry, but that could wait. He was hard, but that was par for the course in the mornings. After last night, and the promise of so much more today, he was willing to wait for that too. But he wanted to be near Bodie. He’d said it himself a long time ago; they were never far apart. Just now, even three feet was too much.

He stretched languidly, loving the space in the giant, cosy bed they’d created. He clutched a blanket round his shoulders and shuffled over on his knees to the fireplace. He raked the grate as little as he could get away with, then arranged the tinder and coal. He struck a match and warmed his hands in front of the growing blaze. There were plenty of logs and coal nearby for when they needed them; the cottage had come well stocked.

Bodie still hadn’t stirred, despite the racket Doyle had made getting the fire started. Doyle smiled happily, feeling a rush of affection for his sleeping partner. He moved close to Bodie, lifted the quilt that covered him, and slid in beside him.

‘Bo-die,’ he called softly. Bodie grunted and shifted onto his stomach. Doyle said his name again, and he flung out his right arm, drawing Doyle in close to him. He wasn’t really awake, but it didn’t matter. Doyle snuggled up and dozed a little longer himself. He woke up a short time afterwards, when Bodie rolled onto his back and started snoring softly. Doyle’s mouth curved into a wicked little smile.

‘Perfectly positioned,’ he murmured. He ducked under the covers, and took Bodie’s cock in his hands.

‘Mmm,’ Bodie said sleepily. ‘Yes, Ray.’

‘Bodie,’ Doyle said again. ‘This is your nine-thirty wakeup call.’

He wet his lips, then took Bodie in, sliding up and down the shaft, loving the feeling of it hardening in his mouth, and the rising sounds of pleasure that testified to his partner’s increasing wakefulness. Doyle swirled his tongue around the glans, then moved down again, taking him all in, suppressing his gag reflex as the head of Bodie’s cock pressed against the back of his throat. He poked out his tongue to tease Bodie’s balls, sucking as hard as he could. Within seconds after that, Bodie came. Doyle drank down every drop, not minding the taste as he had once, because he’d learnt to associate it with Bodie. Then he lay back on the pillows beside his breathless lover. They shared a grin, and a kiss.

‘My turn,’ Doyle said. ’Bet I come faster than you.’

‘You’ve got a head-start on me, by the looks of it,’ Bodie said, teasing his hard cock with an expert finger. Doyle felt his balls draw up tight, even at this slight contact.

‘Don’t tease, Bodie,’ he urged. ‘Make it quick.’

‘Your wish is my command,’ said Bodie.

He grasped Doyle’s cock, bringing it back from his stomach so it was pointing up at the ceiling. Then he bent his head; his mouth engulfed the tip, and he tongued the slit until it began to leak pre-come.

‘Fuck …’ Doyle gasped, thrusting up into Bodie’s mouth. Bodie grabbed his hips and held him still. Then he released him and moved down to his balls, caressing them with his tongue before taking each one between his lips and sucking gently.

‘Just a little harder,’ Doyle whispered. Bodie increased the suction, and he moaned softly; Bodie responded by increasing it again.

‘Ahhh, Bodie ... that is … so … so good,’ he murmured.

Bodie took his cock in both hands, one pumping him near the base, and the other sliding over the head and back again, stretching and releasing the foreskin. Doyle’s pleasure began to build, and he begged Bodie not to stop. Bodie gave a throaty chuckle, then something entirely new: he began to hum. The vibration of Bodie’s lips against his balls drove Doyle over the edge. Yelling Bodie’s name, he arched his back and let his orgasm overtake him. He came so hard that the spurts of semen took a second to land, splattering his chest and stomach. Then he relaxed, shaking, and Bodie released him. He moved up to kiss Doyle on the lips.

‘My God, you looked incredible,’ Bodie whispered. For a long moment, the passion in his eyes was intense. But then it was gone, and he sat up, leaning back on his hands, grinning smugly.

‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘About the same time, I reckon. Quick enough for you?’

‘Perfect,’ Doyle choked. He could hardly breathe. His heart was hammering so hard, it felt like it’d burst out of his chest like the alien in that film that had come out last year -- the one at which he and Bodie had annoyed a cinema full of people by giggling all the way through. Bodie laughed now, not at anything in particular, just a happy sound. Stretching out on his stomach with his face pillowed on folded arms, he gazed at Doyle with a smile on his face that would have melted the heart of the White Witch. As for Doyle, he felt like his whole body was melting. He smiled back.

‘What shall we do today?’ he asked.

‘You know what,’ said Bodie. ‘We’ll get dressed -- eventually -- make ourselves some breakfast, then we’ll go riding.’

‘Riding, yes,’ said Doyle. ‘For which I’d need -- hmm.’ He raised his eyebrows cheekily. ‘Riding boots.’

* * * * *

They dressed in separate bedrooms. That had been Doyle’s idea, and Bodie was quite happy to go with it.

‘Hope you’re not disappointed,’ Doyle had said, but by the way he sauntered into his room, flicking the door closed behind him, Bodie didn’t think he was worried.

Bodie walked into the main bedroom, and took his clothes out of his suitcase. He dressed in his favourite black cords and a cream polo neck that showed his muscular torso off to perfection. He put on clean socks and a pair of serviceable walking boots. His green parka was downstairs; he’d wear that when they actually went out.

He stood and looked at himself in the full-length mirror that stood by the window. He was pleased with his appearance, but he’d always been a confident man. He wasn’t sure exactly what his lover saw when he looked at him, only that he felt thrilled when Doyle told him how beautiful he was.

His door opened. Bodie saw rather than heard it: saw it in the mirror. Then he saw his partner’s reflection, and caught his breath. Doyle was leaning against the doorframe with one leg crossed over the other. He was wearing a burgundy shirt with the top few buttons undone, tucked into dark blue denim jeans with a camel coloured leather belt at the waist. Over his shoulder was his jacket of the same colour. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled back, showing off his slender wrists. The jeans were tight-fitting, hugging Doyle’s slim hips, his narrow yet muscular thighs. But Bodie’s eyes were drawn irresistibly downwards, to the riding boots that Doyle was wearing: for him. The boots were in that same shade of brown leather, making a pleasing contrast with the denim. They highlighted the masculine shapeliness of his lower body, accentuating the tapering in and out of his slim, perfectly formed legs. How a pair of boots quite managed all that, Bodie wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wanted that figure in the doorway to pin him to the wall and fuck him like the world was ending.

Bodie turned around and clapped his hand to his heart, pretending to collapse against the nearby chest of drawers. Doyle grinned. The hand that wasn’t holding the jacket shifted provocatively to his hip.

‘Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore,’ Bodie said, shaking his head incredulously at his partner’s raw, wild beauty. ‘Not for food, anyway.’

‘You like what you see?’

Bodie swallowed. His mouth kept going dry. His cock was hardening in his cords. It was swelling more gradually than usual, perhaps, because of the attention it had already received that morning, but the sight in front of him was impossible to ignore. Ray Doyle, sex on leather-booted legs, was offering himself to Bodie on a platter, and Bodie was going to have him with the bare minimum of delay.

‘I see you do like it,’ Doyle said, glancing not-very-subtly between Bodie’s thighs. His fingers went to his shirt; he twitched another button undone.

‘Oh my God.’ Bodie rolled his eyes and took deep breaths. ‘Ray, stop teasing and come over here.’

‘Sorry, mate. Not yet.’

‘What? You have got to be kidding me.’

‘Nope,’ said Doyle. To Bodie’s bemusement, he looked slightly apologetic. ‘You might be the sexual equivalent of Batman …’

‘I’m sorry?’

Doyle gave him a cheeky grin. ‘Always ready at the signal.’

Bodie snorted. Laughingly he asked, ‘But?’

‘I don’t think I could do it right now,’ said Doyle. ‘I’m still not _quite_ sure what you did to me downstairs, but whatever it was it hit all the right buttons at exactly the right time, and I’m …’

‘Out of service?’ Bodie finished for him, with a teasing smile. Doyle didn’t rise to the bait, he just arched an eyebrow and nodded ruefully.

‘For the moment, yes. And as I understand it, in this fantasy I do you?’

Bodie nodded.

‘Let’s eat,’ said Doyle. ‘And then go riding. Then let’s come up here.’ He looked around, obviously being mysterious on purpose, and nodded. ‘Yeah. I think doing it in here would be good.’

‘Why here?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to guess,’ Doyle said. ‘Come on.’

He turned around and walked out of the room. Bodie took one look at him from the back and wondered how on earth he was going to make it through the day. He ran to catch up with his partner and caught him round the waist before he could start walking down the stairs. He snuggled into Doyle’s back and kissed the flawed side of his face.

‘You’re so bloody tempting,’ he said. ‘It’s like being a teenager again, being around you. Maybe we should spend a week apart more often.’

‘I’d settle for a less explosive sex life, myself,’ said Doyle, as he leaned into Bodie’s embrace. ‘I hate not having you around.’

‘I know,’ said Bodie, sighing. ‘Me too. Having to wait hours for you to fuck me is going to be difficult enough.’

‘It’ll be worth the wait,’ said Doyle, kissing him.

* * * * *

They rode back to the cottage after a pub lunch, feeling pleasantly tired, but not drained of energy. Bodie had managed to keep his lust under control, though it was difficult with Doyle strutting around in his boots and smouldering at him all day, and whispering things like _I’m thinking about you_ in his ear whenever they got close to each other. After a while, Bodie started doing it back. He also took off his jacket and flexed his muscles strategically while they were in the pub, and made copious use of double entendres during their lunchtime conversation. When they left, Doyle was carrying his jacket at an angle that suggested Bodie’s rather tongue-in-cheek attempts at seduction had been successful.

With their horses fed, watered and tethered, and the decision taken that mucking out the stables could wait until the next morning, they went inside. Doyle immediately hastened upstairs, and told Bodie not to follow him. Bodie heard the creak of floorboards that signified Doyle moving around, but nothing to give him a clue as to what his partner was doing. Five minutes later, Doyle's voice floated downstairs, deceptively casual.

‘OK, Bodie, you can come now.’

Bodie knew the choice of words wasn’t an accident. He resisted the temptation to take the stairs at a run. He wondered what Doyle had been doing up there. When he got to the doorway of the bedroom he couldn’t see anything different, except -- had Doyle moved the mirror? But Doyle was … he was …

All thoughts of the room flew from Bodie’s mind. Doyle was bare to the waist. His jeans were unfastened and rolled down to the tops of his thighs. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. His cock stood erect, hard and ready and glistening with lubricant, against his flat stomach. The riding boots still clung to his lower legs.

‘I said I’ve been thinking about you,’ said Doyle, smiling crookedly. ‘Now you can see the result.’

‘Ray,’ Bodie said in a strained voice. ‘I need you.’

‘I know,’ said Doyle. ‘I need you, too. Come here.’

Bodie took a few steps forward. Then he looked to left and right, and realised what was different.

‘There’s another mirror,’ he said.

‘Exactly,’ said Doyle. ‘Got it from the other bedroom. You want to see what I’m doing, don’t you? I mean -- if the sight of these excites you so much …’

He indicated the boots.

Bodie answered him with a whimper. He realised exactly what Doyle’s plan was. One mirror stood at an angle near the chest of drawers. The other one stood by the door, opposite the first, so that if you looked in one you’d see the other reflected back.

‘Let’s get straight to the main event, shall we?’ Bodie suggested.

‘You’re not even getting the choice,’ Doyle retorted, with smug aggression that made the hairs on Bodie’s arms stand up. ‘Take your clothes off.’

Bodie didn’t think twice; he just obeyed. Whatever got Doyle into him faster. He felt excited when Doyle sucked in his breath at the sight of his naked body.

‘Christ, you’re gorgeous. My mind never does you justice,’ said Doyle. He took Bodie in his arms and kissed him. 'No matter how many times I see you …' He trailed off, then led Bodie by the hand, across the room.

‘OK. Stand here. Use the chest of drawers for support. Good.’

His voice roughened as he leaned in. His fingertips lightly brushed Bodie’s hips; Bodie inhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes shut. Doyle had kept him waiting so long that he was hypersensitive, every touch sending a rush of almost painful arousal through his body.

‘Now,’ Doyle purred, ‘if we look in the mirror, we’ll be able to see everything.’ A note of humour crept into his voice. ‘Like watching an X movie, ‘cept we’re not sitting in a cinema with a load of other wankers.’

Bodie tried to laugh, but his stomach was so tight with anticipation that it didn’t come out properly. Sweat was already beading on his brow.

‘You sound nervous,’ said Doyle. His forehead furrowed with concern.

‘I’m not. I just ... need you.’

‘Well you’ve got me, Bodie love.’

Bodie breathed out shakily, as dazed with lust as he was touched by the sudden tenderness in Doyle's voice. He braced himself against the chest of drawers, spread his legs, and looked into the mirror, avoiding his own reflection to focus on what the mirror opposite was showing him. He saw Doyle position himself behind him, saw the legs clad in denim and leather, and the perfect half-bared arse. He felt the first, slow thrust, heard Doyle's long groan of pleasure as he sank into Bodie to the hilt, then the familiar jolt as, on the second thrust, Doyle's cock hit him where it counted.

‘Oh fuck, this is perfect.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Doyle grunted. ‘Aah! Bodie, you feel so good. Mmm. God, it felt like it’d been months by the time we got back. I don’t know whether I … oh … Bodie, yes, yes …’

‘Whether you ...?’ Bodie tried to ask, but Doyle cut him off with a gasp. Bodie, too, soon lost the ability to think beyond the pleasure he was feeling, and the effect it was having on his so far untouched cock. Doyle was putting on a real show, grinding his hips in circles with every exquisitely slow thrust. His jeans had slipped down a little more now. Bodie watched, mesmerised, as the muscles in Doyle’s back and arse tensed and relaxed, his whole body working in rhythm with itself. Bodie saw the rippling of his own muscles as he moved with his partner -- not receiving Doyle passively, but using his strength in turn. It was wonderful to watch.

‘So good,’ he murmured. Then, louder, ‘So … _fuck,_ Ray ... oh _God!_ Go that way again! Faster, mate ... yeah ...’

He focused on the mirror as Doyle started to speed up. He watched the movements of the taut, shapely body become more frenzied. Knowing Doyle wasn’t going to last much longer now, Bodie also started to stroke himself, matching his partner’s movements. Doyle was moaning and grunting rhythmically, and to Bodie’s delight, he was getting louder every time. Someone else was crying out, too. Bodie realised the voice was his own.

The chest of drawers was creaking and rattling under two men’s weight. Doyle was pounding into Bodie with such abandon that his reflection in the mirror was almost a blur. Bodie had often wondered what they looked like in coitus, and now he knew. They looked quite different from each other: Bodie big and muscular and pale as ivory, Doyle slender and golden. The narrowness of his hips compared with Bodie’s made the force of his thrusts almost as stimulating as the actual sensations he was producing. There was something intensely arousing in the idea of a man who looked, on first impression, like a seven-stone weakling, and yet was as strong as Bodie knew he was. But most of all, it was the _closeness_ of this act that thrilled him. He’d experienced it hundreds of times, yet now, seeing it, the implications of it hit him anew. The fact that one of them was penetrating the other didn’t amount to domination and submission, just _togetherness._ They were as equal in love as they were in the rest of their lives; they were partners, totally in sync with each other.

Yet overriding all these deeper thoughts was a much simpler fact: the way that Ray Doyle looked as he fucked Bodie into several varieties of oblivion.

‘Ray, you’re … fuck, you look so gorgeous … incredible … beautiful … I can’t …’

 _‘We’re_ gorgeous, Bodie,’ Doyle answered through gritted teeth, slowing down again to allow himself to speak. ‘Look at us. We’ve always been better together than apart, haven't we?'

'Mmm,' was all Bodie could manage.

'Yeah,' said Doyle. 'Ahh -- fuck, I’m close … come for me now, Bodie.’

‘Oh, I will, just keep doing …’

‘This?’

His thrusts became quicker, shorter, and centred exactly upon the spot that drove Bodie wild. Whenever Doyle decided to favour him with this particular move, he kept it back until the end, when he wanted Bodie to lose control completely. Eyes never leaving the mirror, gazing in wonder at the booted figure who was giving him such pleasure, Bodie gasped and swore and began to stroke himself harder, faster, feeling an intense heat spreading at the base of his spine, pulsing like a heartbeat. He started to climax deep inside; his mouth dropped open and a long, low cry ripped out of him, becoming a scream as the heat pooled at the root of his cock, then filled him completely as he came, and came …

 _‘Now,_ Ray!’ he yelled, encouraging the fury of his partner’s thrusts until he, too, reached a shuddering climax.

‘Bodie, oh God, BODIE!’

The sound of Doyle screaming his name drew a final spasm from Bodie’s cock. Then it was over, the sensations were fading, the electricity was subsiding from the atmosphere, and the scent of spent sex was heavy in the air. Bodie, exhausted from an unusual amount of sexual activity -- and saddlesore on top of that --knew his legs just weren’t going to hold him up any more. He straightened up, waved away Doyle’s shaky attempt at a hug, and dragged his gasping partner over to the bed. He collapsed on top of it, and Doyle, made clumsy with exhaustion and the constraints of the pushed-down jeans, staggered, and collapsed on top of him.

With what last vestiges of strength they had, they pulled each other close, then Doyle rolled over to curl himself around Bodie, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms: one man nude and sleek and palely beautiful, and the other in wanton disarray, still wearing jeans and riding boots.

\- THE END -


End file.
